


let the wolves sing

by macaronidoodles



Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:29:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28139211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macaronidoodles/pseuds/macaronidoodles
Summary: There’s a moment as the two forces collide where nothing happens and Tracker thinks her magic must have won out, but then there’s an enormous explosion that blows all three of them backwards, sending Ragh and Tracker crashing into the statue behind the altar and Valeria into a column on the other side of the room. Tracker, struggling to breathe, gets to experience the uniquely terrible sensation of having her goddess’ magic turned against her.Cold- then hot- then cold again- thunder ringing in her ears, behind her eyes- can’t breath- can’t breathe- Galicaea-Why does she burn like silver, of all things?-Tracker and Ragh's trip to Fallinel, featuring: action! adventure! a lot more discussion of feelings than is probably necessary for an ostensibly plot-based fic! werewolf lore! moon lore! and most importantly, friendship!
Relationships: Kristen Applebees/Tracker O'Shaughnessey, Ragh Barkrock & Tracker O'Shaughnessey
Comments: 48
Kudos: 36
Collections: Dimension 20 Big Bang





	1. bastion city

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This fic was written for the D20 Big Bang, and features art by the incredible @Magicatherine on twitter! I will link it here once it's been posted, please show them some love!! 
> 
> Massive thanks to Catherine and also the D20 Big Bang mods, they've done an amazing job running this event! Check out the other works in the collection too, the ones I've read so far have been so so good.
> 
> EDIT: here's the Twitter link to the art! https:///Magicatherine/status/1343709858319769600

_In the days when the world was new, there lived many peoples: orcs and halflings, dwarves and elves, humans and goblins, and many others. And there lived also the beasts, and among them, the wolves._

Galicaean Folktale

***

Tracker doesn’t really believe they’re going until they’re gone. All throughout the farewell party and the slightly-hungover morning after as they pack up the Hangvan II there’s a nagging little thought at the back of her head telling her this isn’t really happening. That Sandralynn and Jawbone will break up again or Kristen will have another crisis of faith or Ragh’s mom will get sick or the Night Y*rb will reappear and start attacking the manor or _something_ will happen, and they’ll have to stay and fix it.

But now the van’s all packed and she’s kissing Kristen one last time and Jawbone’s making them take a photo in front of the van, all choked up, and the various residents of Mordred Manor have come out to wave goodbye and they’re pulling out of the driveway and they’ve _done_ it. They’re really going.

Tracker heaves a deep breath as a “Now Leaving Elmville!” sign flashes up ahead, tightening her grip on the wheel. She’s weirdly nervous. It’s kinda dumb - this isn’t the first time she’s left Elmville, isn’t even the first time she’s left to go on an adventure. But this feels different. This adventure is _hers_ , her’s and Ragh’s, and if things go wrong it’s up to them to save the day. It’s exhilarating. It’s terrifying.

Ragh spots the sign too and whoops, dissolving Tracker’s anxiety in an instant. “Fuck yeah!” he crows. “Goodbye Elmville!”

Tracker laughs, and joins in with a loud, wolfish howl that’s torn away by the breeze through the open window. “Goodbye!” she yells, laying on the horn. “We’re gonna change the fucking world!”

“Woooo!” Ragh yells back.

Someone pulls past them and honks angrily, but Tracker doesn’t care. The highway stretches out ahead, sun glinting off the tarmac, and Ragh’s leaning over to crank up the music and all the weight she’s been carrying feels lighter than it has done in years. They can do this. They can _change_ things. This trip is going to be great.

***

The first day is more of a road trip than an adventure, which is a nice change of pace from the last time they left Elmville in search of a missing Fig and Riz. They laugh. They sing, loud and out of tune, along with the radio. They play car games to pass the time, bicker amicably over the rules. They eat shitty gas station snacks. Ragh makes fun of Tracker for picking boring healthy granola and she teases him for the truly improbable amount of beef jerky he puts away over the course of the afternoon. They laugh some more. And, as the moon takes her place in the sky, the lights of Bastion City begin to twinkle in the distance.

It’s past midnight by the time Tracker pulls the van over in a quiet side street in the middle of the city. She leans over and pokes Ragh, who has been gently snoring for the past half hour. “Ragh. Ragh, wake up, we’re here.”

Ragh groans and rubs his eyes. “What’s up?” he asks, as Tracker opens the door on the driver’s side. “I thought we were just gonna crash for the night.”

“Temple of Galicaea,” Tracker hops out of the van. “I know a couple of the priestesses there. I wanted to get their advice before we head to Fallinel.”

“It’s kind of late,” Ragh says, stretching and then following suit. “Won’t it be closed?”

“Galicaea’s the goddess of the moon,” Tracker grins, and points upwards. “When she’s out, so are we.”

She leads Ragh down the street to a ramshackle building wedged between a pizzeria and a 24-hour gym, marked out only by a flickering neon sign in the shape of a crescent moon. The door is propped open with a brick which Tracker makes sure to leave in place as she ushers Ragh inside. They emerge into a narrow hallway with buzzing fluorescent lights, and then into a small lobby area. It’s cramped, boxes and books stacked up precariously against one wall, she can hear the low pounding of music from the gym next door, and there are cracks in the tiles in the floor, but even after all her travels Tracker has yet to find a place that feels more holy.

She takes a deep breath in, inhaling the familiar scent of wood and incense and just a hint of marinara sauce from the pizza restaurant through the wall. “Hey!” she calls. “Anyone in?”

There’s a clattering sound from the side room Tracker remembers being used as an office followed by a muffled “Oh, _shit_ ,” and then a bulky, silver-haired werewolf pokes his head out of the doorway. “Yeah I’m - Tracker!”

“Hey, Dasha,” Tracker says as she’s pulled into a rib-crushing hug. “Oof. Good to see you, bud.”

“What are you doing here?” he says, pulling back. “Thought you and Jawbone had moved to the crazy town with the adventuring school.”

“Yeah, we did,” Tracker says. “I’m just visiting. How have you been?”

“Good, good,” Dasha says, then peers over at Ragh, standing a little awkwardly to the side. “Who’s your friend?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Tracker says. “This is my friend Ragh. Ragh, this is a Dasha. He’s the temple attendant.”

“Well, that’s their fancy way of calling me the handyman,” Dasha chuckles and reaches out to shake Ragh’s hand. “Nice to meet you, man.”

“Yeah dude,” Ragh says, fist-bumping him, which Dasha takes in his stride. “This place is awesome. It doesn’t feel like a church at all.”

“Glad you like it,” Dasha says. “Most of the actual worship is done upstairs, but it’s pretty much all like this. We keep things casual around here.”

“Speaking of worship,” Tracker interjects. “Is Lida around?”

“Yeah, I think she’s up on the roof,” Dasha says. “You can go up and see her if you like.”

“Cool,” Tracker says. “Promise I’ll come back and catch up later, I just need to speak to her about something first.”

“No worries,” Dasha says, grabbing a diary and flicking through the pages. “Do you guys need a place to stay tonight? I think we have a room free if y’all don’t mind sharing.”

“That would be amazing, thank you,” Tracker squeezes his shoulder. “See you in a bit.”

Dasha waves goodbye, and returns to whatever he was doing in the other room. Tracker and Ragh hear another crash and muffled curses as they begin the long climb up the rickety stairs to the top floor.

“Do people, like, live here?” Ragh asks, as they pass by a floor where a couple of people are sitting around playing a board game.

“Kind of,” Tracker says, raising her hand to wave at the few of them she recognises. “The temple keeps rooms spare for people that need them, mostly homeless folks and werewolf kids who’ve been kicked out by their parents. It’s only temporary for most people - there are volunteers who come help them find more permanent places to live. But some people live here full time just ‘cos they like it, like Dasha..”

“That’s so cool,” Ragh stops to catch his breath. “It would be cooler if there was, like, an elevator, though, fuck.”

Tracker laughs. “You get used to it.”

“Have you stayed here before?”

“Yeah, a couple of times,” she says, her voice deliberately light, and changes the subject. “Lida’s the head priestess here. She’s like the coolest person I’ve ever met, I bet she’ll have some ideas about where we can start.”

“Sounds good,” Ragh says. “Oh man, though, please tell me this is the last set of stairs.”

Eventually they do reach the last staircase and exit onto the roof. There are wards in place to amplify the little moonlight that seeps through the light-polluted sky, and so they can see the rooftop temple clearly. It’s less of a temple than it is a garden: wild brambles enclose the edges of the roof and there are flower and vegetable patches to each side of the stone altar in the centre. There are several priestesses in long blue robes tending the garden, some in hybrid werewolf form, some not. Tracker easily spots Lida among them by her stature – she’s a good three heads shorter than most of the other people around – and calls out, “Hey, Lida!”

Lida, a dark-skinned halfling woman with silvery locs tied up in a bun, turns around from where she’s picking berries and squints at them through thick round glasses. “Oh, Tracker, honey! What a wonderful surprise,” she says, straightening up and removing her gardening gloves. “What brings you to Bastion City?”

“I was hoping to talk to you, actually.” Tracker says. “Uh, do you know what’s happening in Fallinel?”

Lida’s expression shifts. “Ah,” she says. “Yes. We should talk. Come sit.”

She gives Tracker a quick hug and then guides them over to a rusting set of patio furniture. Tracker introduces her to Ragh and explains their mission as Lida wraps up the berries she’d picked in paper twists, listening intently. When Tracker’s done with her brief recap of the Nightmare Forest and their experience in Fallinel, she sighs and puts them down.

“I knew things were bad, but I never realised -” she breaks off. “Poor Cassandra.”

“The priestesses in Elmville said the same thing. Fallinel’s so far away and so secretive… it’s like a whole other religion.” Tracker drums her fingers on the table.

“In a way it is,” Lida says. “We don’t get Fallinel elves travelling through here very often, but you know me, I get around.” She winks at Ragh, who blushes a little as Tracker rolls her eyes fondly. “Almost every story I’ve been told about by Galicaea by someone from Fallinel has been entirely the _opposite_ of the stories we like to tell. It’s funny.”

“Like what?” Ragh asks.

Lida hums, thinking. “The origin of werewolves is one that comes to mind,” she says after a moment. “The Fallinel elves, from what I’ve heard, have a lot of stories about people betraying Galicaea or not being devout enough and being cursed to become wolves as a punishment. Whereas all the stories _I_ was taught when I was training as a priestess were about Galicaea rewarding people for good deeds by giving them the ability to shape-change.”

Tracker nods. “The first one I learned was about Galicaea loving the sound of wolves howling at the moon so much that she granted them the ability to walk amongst the peoples, and sing during the day, too.”

“Aww,” Ragh says. “I like that version better.”

“Me too,” Tracker says. “I wonder which one is true.”

Lida shakes her head. “It’s not so much about which one’s true – I mean, nowadays, we know lycanthropy is a disease, right? A magical one, but still a disease. These stories were just ways to explain it when we didn’t know what it really was. But it’s still interesting how differently we think about it… for us, you know, we learned to see it as a gift. But in Fallinel…”

“It’s a punishment.” Tracker finishes grimly.

“Exactly.” Lida says. “I hate to think – if enough people believe that, believe that we shouldn’t exist, and what you say about gods being shaped by their followers is true –“ She sighs, and draws her robes closer around her shoulders. “Well, I think what you’re doing is going to be very, very important.”

“Yeah.” Tracker sighs too. She’d been hoping a little, deep down, that Lida would tell her she’s been over-reacting, that things weren’t as dire as they appeared, but this is perhaps the gravest she’s ever seen the priestess look. Something is really, really wrong with Galicaea.

Lida seems to sense that she’s having a moment, and leans over to squeeze her arm. “If any of us can do this, you can, Tracker,” she says reassuringly. “You’ve always been so strong. I believe in you.”

“I, uh. Thanks.” Tracker clears her throat, her cheeks hot. “Um. Anyway. Since we’re going to Fallinel, do you know anyone there who might be able to help us?”

Lida ponders that for a second. “We’ve sadly lost contact with many of our sister temples across the sea – although now we know why of course – but I believe the current head priestess is called Zaleria Caithana.” She finds a spare piece of paper and scribbles the name down for in her scratchy handwriting. “I don’t know how much help she’ll be if she’s the one in charge of all this, but better to know who you’re up against. She’s a piece of work, from what I remember.”

“Thanks,” Tracker says.

“I also have a friend living on the coast of Fallinel who might be able to help you.” Lida continues, writing down another name, as Tracker mouths “Friend” with air quotes over her head to Ragh, who stifles a laugh.

Without looking up, Lida says, “Wipe that grin off your face, I _do_ mean friend.”

“Sorry,” Tracker says guiltily and misses the second wink that Lida throws Ragh’s way.

“It’s alright. I’ll write you a letter to give to them letting them know I sent you, and I’m sure they’ll help in any way they can.” Lida finishes writing and gives the paper to Tracker. “Now. I’m sure you’ve had a long journey, off to bed with you.”

She hops down off the seat, and begins shooing them away. 

“Alright, alright,” Tracker says. “Thanks, Lida.”

“You’re very welcome,” she says with a smile, patting Tracker’s elbow. “And thank you for doing this, Tracker. May the moon’s light guide your way.”

***

Tracker stares up at the cracked ceiling in the room Dasha had given them, head buzzing with too many thoughts to sleep. Is lycanthropy a gift or a curse? Or both? If it’s a curse, what does that make Galicaea? Does that even matter, or does it just matter who she is now? Who she could be? (And, oh man, is this how Kristen used to feel all the time? Because this is driving her crazy.)

Partially, too, it’s just being back in one of these cramped little rooms. Much as she loves the temple, she’s never been able to sleep well here – apart from full moon nights, if she was staying over it was usually because Jawbone was off doing something dangerous and didn’t want to leave her alone in the apartment, and she’d be up all night worrying about him.

It doesn’t help that she’d kinda hoped she’d feel closer to Galicaea here, the way she used to when she’d first become a werewolf, something steady and certain to believe in in the midst of a turbulent time. Though it’s nice to see her old friends, nice to be in a place that really feels like home, she only feels the bitter absence of that certain faith she used to have.

She rolls over and grabs her crystal, scrolls through her messages for something to do. There’s a couple _good luck_ texts from some of the Mordred Crew and the few followers of Galicaea she knows in Elmville, a _proud of you, kiddo_ from Jawbone, and fifty messages from Kristen (less than she’d expected, to be honest), which alternate between _I miss you_ and motivational _you can do this!_ quotes, all with multiple exclamation points and long strings of emojis. Tracker smiles fondly, texts _miss you, too!_ back.

“You awake, dude?” Ragh’s voice breaks through the dark.

“Yeah,” she whispers back, tucking her crystal back beneath her pillow. “What’s up?”

“Dunno. Can’t sleep.” She hears him shift over to his side. “Reminds me a bit of foster care.”

“You were in foster care?” Tracker says, surprised, turning over and leaning on to her elbow to face him.

“Not for super long,” Ragh says. “When my mom first got sick they didn’t know how long she’d be in the hospital for, and the neighbour who looked after me when she was adventuring had to move away.”

“Wow,” Tracker says. “That must have been hard.”

Tracker can just make out the edge of his frame as he shrugs. “I don’t really remember it, ‘cos mostly I was just worried about my mom. It wasn’t bad, though. There was another half-orc kid my age staying there at the same time, which was cool. But weird memories, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Tracker says, and stays quiet for a moment. “I almost went into the system.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. My parents couldn’t cope when they found I had lycanthropy so they left me at the hospital.” She says this matter-of-factly, as she always does, because if she stops to think about how much it hurts she’s never going to get started again. “I told the nurses to find Jawbone, but he wasn’t exactly reliable back then so it took them a while to get in touch… he showed up like two hours before social services were going to.” Tracker goes quiet again, remembering the relief she’d felt when fun Uncle Jawbone, who was a werewolf and didn’t care who knew it, had finally knocked on the door and wrapped her up in a big hug, the first person who hadn’t shied away from her since she’d been bitten. She doesn’t know what would have happened to her if he hadn’t shown.

“Your parents just left?” Ragh asks. “That’s fucked up, dude. Sorry.”

“It’s whatever,” Tracker says, not because it is, just to say something. “Or, it’s not, but I thought… I don’t know. All this stuff with Galicaea is messing with me.” She pauses again. “Like, she was kind of the only good thing I had after for a while after my parents left, and then it turns out she abandoned her only family too? That… doesn’t feel great.”

“Yeah, but, like, it wasn’t her fault, right?” Ragh says. “It was her followers.”

_What if it wasn’t? What if it was her?_ Tracker thinks, but can’t quite bring herself to say out loud. _What if she abandons me too?_ “Yeah, I know,” she says instead. “But…”

“Still sucks.”

“Still sucks,” she agrees.

“But we’re gonna fix it, right?” Ragh says. “Galicaea, and Cassandra, and everything. Then things will be good again.”

He says it so earnestly that Tracker can’t help but believe him, even though she knows it can’t possibly be that easy. “Right,” she says. “Thanks, Ragh.”

“Anytime, dude.” He yawns. “Ah. M’sleepy, now.”

“Night,” Tracker says, but based on the snores that start shortly thereafter he doesn’t hear her.

She’s about to settle back to sleep herself when her crystal buzzes again, another message from Kristen: _miss you more!!_ _how’s the adventure going?_

Tracker has a hundred unanswered questions that only multiply by the day, is doubting her goddess for the first time since she became a werewolf, already misses her girlfriend and Jawbone and (stupidly) her parents terribly. But she looks over at Ragh, sleeping at an uncomfortable angle in a narrow twin bed, snoring loud enough to shake the walls, and, despite it all, smiles.

_It’s going pretty good._


	2. the celestine sea

_The people of the world feared the wolves. The wolves, they said, attacked their flocks, they tried to steal their children, their howling hurt the people's ears. They prayed to their gods to send the wolves away, and when they went out they wore silver to keep them at bay._

Galicaean Folktale

***

Ragh is contentedly dozing on the roof of the Hangvan II (aka 2 Hang, 2 Van, aka the Hangier Van, aka Electric Hangaloo) a few days into their journey across the Celestine Sea, drinking in the warm late afternoon sun and the cool scent of the ocean breeze, when a loud clattering sound directly next to his head sends him bolting upright.

“What – ah – what –“ he says, blinking rapidly to clear the sunspots from his vision. He scrambles for his weapon. “What are we fighting?”

“Nothing, it’s just me.” Tracker says, moving in between him and the setting sun so he can see her properly. She points to the ground, where the cause of the noise lies: two sets of iron manacles and 50 feet of hempen rope. “These are for later.”

Ragh furrows his brows, taking a little too much time to figure out the connection until Tracker takes pity on him and explains, “It’s the full moon tonight.”

“Oh, right.” Ragh says. “You need to be tied up –“

“Or else I freak out and go on a murderous rampage, yeah,” Tracker says.

“Huh. Cool.” Ragh says. “Happy to tie you up, dude.” He pauses. “Like, platonically though.”

Tracker waves her hand. “Don’t bother, I know it’s super weird.” She flops down beside him on the deck with a sigh.

“Is the full moon, uh, also why you’ve been acting, uh…” Ragh trails off at the expression on her face.

“Acting like what?” she growls.

“Like that,” Ragh winces. “Like, really pissed off at everything.”

It’s not been the whole time they’ve been on the ocean, but for the past two days, Tracker’s just been a little more….. on edge than normal. She snapped at Ragh like five times yesterday, which is maybe understandable given that it’s just the two of them in a cramped van, but he’d also heard her arguing with Kristen over the crystal last night, (like, he tried not to listen, but it’s a small van even with the Moon Haven. Tracker had been _pissed_ ), and then this morning something in the engine started smoking and she’s spent all day thumping under the hood and muttering to herself in irritation. He’s not sure if any of it actually helped, but, like, Tracker’s a lesbian, he’s not gonna question her abilities with a spanner.

Tracker doesn’t yell like he’d expected, just covers her face with her hands and groans. “Ugh. Sorry. Didn’t realise it was that obvious.”

“Anything you wanna talk about?” Ragh says.

“No, I think it’s just werewolf stuff,” she sighs. “Lida did warn me that full moons on the ocean were more intense, I just didn’t realise it would start before the full moon.”

“They’re more intense?” Ragh says, beginning to wonder if he’d be able to handle this on his own. He’s been lucky enough to fight on Tracker’s side for the entire time he’s known her, but having seen what happens to the people who get in her way… “How come?”

Tracker shrugs. “Lida reckons it’s something to do with the tides being linked to the moon, but that’s only a hunch. Werewolf rages just seem more rage-y out at sea.”

“Weird.” Ragh says. He looks down at the supplies. “Do you think this will be enough to hold you?”

“Should be,” Tracker says, but she sits up and frowns in concern. “I mean. I think. It’s normally fine.”

“Okay. Where do you want me to tie all this stuff? Like, a loop around and through the windows?” Ragh pauses, squints at the surface of the van, and then has a brainwave. “Oh, dude, we could tie you to the back and you can, like, waterski!”

“Ragh,” Tracker says in a way that means no, but she’s smiling.

“Come on, a waterskiing werewolf, how fucking sick would that be-“

“Ragh, that’s a terrible…” Tracker trails off as an enormous hulking shadow falls over the two of them. They both scrabble to their feet, reaching for weapons, and then see what’s casting it.

“Oh –“

“ _Fuck_.”

***

The thing about Leviathan is that normally you don’t find _it, it_ finds _you_. Ragh and Tracker had spoken about it, and though they decided they weren’t going to actively seek it out, they figured it’d be nice to visit if it happened to come across them. They’d be able to go and visit Garthy and Ayda if she was around, maybe get a little wild in the Gold Gardens, maybe explore the rest of the city without the looming threat of James Whitclaw and his crew.

They _hadn’_ t figured that they’d be caught in the Maelstrom’s Maw on the day of the full moon. As the sun was beginning to set.

A murderous rampage is all well and good when there’s no one around to be murdered – but a murderous rampage in a city full of pirates seems like a sure-fire way for an angry mob to come after them with pitchforks and torches. And, knowing Leviathan, guns with silver bullets.

Tracker’s pacing up and down the roof as they’re lifted up onto Leviathan’s deck, all the hair on the back of her neck raised, her fists clenched tightly at her side as they begin to bulge with claws. Ragh eyes the manacles.

“It’ll be fine,” he says, trying to convince himself as much as Tracker. “We’ll just pay the fee and drive straight to the Gold Gardens, Garthy can do their magic ward thing and protect you and it’ll all be fine!”

“Does it have to be the Gold Gardens?” Tracker says tightly.

“I mean, we could go the library, but’s further away and we don’t know if Ayda’s there –“

“Okay, okay,” Tracker says, and sighs. “Sorry, just – I can probably hold it in until it’s fully dark, but it’s taking a lot out of me. I’m gonna put the manacles on now, just get me somewhere where I can’t hurt anyone?”

“Yeah, okay, no worries, I’ll handle it,” Ragh says, and swings down into the driver’s seat as the van thumps on the deck. Tracker hops down too and gets in the back, slamming the double doors behind her.

Jamina Joy strides over to them in all her sick robot-pirate glory. “Ah. Another strange Solesian vessel,” she says creakily. “Are you the captain?”

“Uh…” Ragh says, looking at a preoccupied Tracker in the rear-view mirror. “Sure?”

Jamina tilts her head. “You do not seem certain.”

“Yeah, okay, fine, I’m the captain,” Ragh says. “Hey, so we’re kind of in a hurry, and also we helped save your whole city like two months ago so could you just, like, let us go?”

Jamina whirs as her eyes focus to squint at him. “You did?

Ragh sighs. “We helped fight against James Whitclaw? In the Row and Ruction?”

“Oh,” Jamina says. “I don’t remember you.”

“Ragh,” Tracker hisses from the backseat. “We gotta _go_.”

“Yeah, okay.” Ragh digs around for his wallet and counts out a hundred gold, then throws the money out at Jamina. “Here, this is what we paid last time, gotta go, sorry!”

He hits the gas and takes off into the streets of Leviathan, leaving a confused Jamina yelling behind them. He only vaguely remembers the way but he can see the Crow’s Keep in the distance so he just keeps driving towards it, laying on the horn so that the surprised people know to get out of the way. 

He can hear Tracker moaning in the back and calls encouragingly, “You’re doing great, we’re almost there!”

  
Ragh thinks she says “Okay!” back, but it’s really more of a snarl. He pushes down on the gas and swerves right around the edge of the Sternwood to see the last rays of the sun begin to sink beneath the waves ahead of them just as the Gold Gardens come into view.

He checks out the rear-view mirror again to check how Tracker’s doing as the van skids to a halt. Given that all he can see is a mass of brown fur, he assumes bad.

“Tracker, wait here, I’m going to get Garthy, okay?” he says, in what he hopes is a calm, reassuring voice. He hears a low growl in response. “Okay. Cool, cool.”

He hops out of the van and runs into the Gold Gardens campus, ignoring the guards who look at him weird, wildly yelling “Garthy! Garthy!”

“Ragh Barkrock,” Garthy says, as Ragh runs past them at the bar. “What brings you to my humble establishment in such a tizzy?”

Ragh backtracks to stand in front of them, and says, frantically, “Tracker – full moon – ocean – bad!”

Garthy seems to understand, and snaps their fingers at some of the guards by the door, pointing them downstairs. “There’s a room in the basement I’ve kept for such occasions,” they say, hurrying with Ragh outside. “I had it built after a full moon incident with Jawbone, actually. He ended up – well, let’s just say, we invested in _sturdier_ ropes after that – oh, dear.”

The doors of the Hangvan II have been flung open, with half their possessions strewn about in disarray. Garthy leans out down and picks up a pair of broken manacles. “Hmm. Seems we were a bit late.”

Ragh kicks at the side of the van. “Fuck!” he says, both in frustration and pain. “I’m supposed to be her bodyguard, I can’t believe I lost her already.”

“I rather think other people will need protection from her, instead of the other way around,” Garthy says as they examine the large claw marks in the back of the van.

“I’m supposed to do both,” Ragh says despondently. “She’s gonna be so mad.”

“Alright, lovey, calm down,” Garthy said, reaching up to pat his shoulder. “Look, she can’t have gone far, let me see if I can figure out where she is.”

They close their eyes and start making complicated hand gestures, tracing golden runes into the air. Ragh looks around, trying to see if he can find anything useful, then spots a flash of _something_ in the distance where the wooden buildings and rigging give way to trees. _Oh, fuck._

Garthy opens their eyes. “She’s in the –“

“Sternwood!” Ragh says, already taking off after her. “I know!”

“Hang on, I can’t come with you, let me get some of my people to help –“ Garthy calls after him.

“I got it!” Ragh calls back, and speeds off in search of his friend.

***

In Ragh’s experience of cursed forests, the best thing to do is charge right in without thinking and in all likelihood you’ll find what you’re looking for. Well, actually, he doesn’t super remember most of the stuff in the Nightmare Forest because he was all fucked up and possessed, but from the experience of the other Bad Kids that seems to be the case.

He just doesn’t expect it to work so well _right away_.

“Oh. Hi Tracker,” he says, nervously, to the enormous hulking werewolf in front of him. “How’s it going?”

She roars in his face with a mouth full of bloody fangs.

“Not good, then?” he ventures.

She swipes at him with her claws, and he leaps back, grabbing his glaive from where it’s strapped to his back. “Okay, Tracker, it’s me Ragh, your friend – oh, okay, okay!” He takes off running deeper into the woods as she lunges, flies into a rage to gain some speed, dodging away whenever he hears rustling in the undergrowth ahead of him. He can do this if he makes this an endurance game: Tracker just needs something to chase, and better him than some poor dude taking a shortcut home.

He realises pretty quickly that his axe is useless, since it’s not silver, but he hangs onto it to swipe away branches and freaky crows that try and claw at his face. There are a couple of sticky points where he gets his axe wedged into a tree and Tracker comes a little too close for comfort but after the third time he begins to get into the swing of things. Run, run, run, pause, take a breath, let Tracker catch the scent again, run, and repeat until – well, until the moon’s gone, he guesses.

A few hours have gone by before Ragh starts to tire. Tracker’s gotten a few swipes in at him so he’s bleeding a little, but there’s a slightly more pressing issue: he’s about to run out of forest.

The Sternwood drops away into the open ocean ahead of him. Reflected in the still waters of the Celestine Sea is the full moon, and as Ragh stops to catch his breath and work out what the fuck to do now, he notes vaguely that they look kind of like a pair of eyes, gazing out of the dark.

He peers over the edge. It’s not as sheer as he thought, so he could probably climb down, but that would make him a prime target for an angry werewolf to jump on top of him. He’s wondering if he can make the jump, when he spots something hanging below and a lightbulb goes off in his head.

He doesn’t have that long before Tracker catches up, but he has the beginnings of a plan. He quickly digs his crystal out of his pocket and calls Kristen.

“Hey, Ragh, what’s up?”

“Not much time, can you keep Tracker distracted for a sec?” Ragh says.

“What? Oh, shit, it’s the full moon, isn’t it?” Kristen says. “Yeah, got you. Is she there?”

“She’s about to be!” Ragh says, hitting speaker and sliding his crystal carefully on the edge of the cliff and darting to one side.

Tracker bursts through the treeline with a roar, eyes red with fury.

“Hey, babe, it’s me,” Kristen’s voice comes through tinny on the speaker. “It’s okay, I know it’s scary being in a new place for the full moon but I’m right here, and Ragh’s here too…”

The distraction works, but not in the way Ragh had thought it would. In the moment before he runs at her, instead of calming down, Tracker’s eyes go a deeper, darker red, and she howls so loudly that the trees a few metres away shake. She looks – well, Ragh’s raged enough times to know the signs in someone else.

He doesn’t have time to think about it too hard, because this is his only shot at this. He charges out of hiding and barrels into Tracker as hard as he can, sending her over the edge and into a convenient net from the neighbouring Riggabah about fifty feet down the side.

“Sorry!” he yells over the side as she lands. “You okay?”

Tracker growls, and tries to stand, but her front legs get caught up and she falls back down. She tries to tear it with her claws, but apparently it’s sturdy stuff because it doesn’t break, and as Ragh watches her get progressively more tangled, he decides it’s probably as good a place as any to leave her until the moon sets.

He sits down with his leg dangling over the side and picks up his crystal. “Thanks, Kristen.”

“No worries,” she says. “Uh. Is she okay? She sounded a little, uh, Nightmare Forest-y.”

“She’s fine,” Ragh says, hoping it’s true. “Apparently full moons on the ocean are kinda intense.”

“Oh. Okay,” Kristen doesn’t sound super convinced, but doesn’t press it. “Well, it’s late. Tell Tracker I love her and to call me when she’s woken up?”

“Will do.” Ragh hangs up and flops backwards, feeling the exhaustion from rage begin to set in. Despite it all he feels pretty good: nothing got to Tracker and Tracker didn’t get anyone else, with the exception of what looked like a few unfortunate squirrels. Not bad, for his first big challenge as a bodyguard.

Tracker tires herself out eventually, and as the sky begins to lighten, Ragh makes his way down the wooden cliff – hull, maybe? He doesn’t know anything about ships – to come and cut her loose. By the time he gets there she’s curled up in a ball in human form.

“Hey dude,” he says gently. “You good?”

“Mmm,” she replies non-committedly, sitting up and wiping some blood off her face. “I didn’t kill anyone, did I?”

“You’re good.”

She accepts his hand up, notices the scratches down his arm and casts a quick healing spell. “Sorry,” she mutters.

“I’ve had worse,” Ragh shrugs.

The begin the climb back up to the deck in silence, until Tracker says, “Kristen – she didn’t hear any of that, did she?”

“Any of what?” Ragh asks, puzzled. “You were just howling.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah.” Tracker shakes her head. “Never mind.”

Ragh hesitates, not totally sure how involved he wants to be in his friends’ relationship, but says, “Is there like, something going wrong, with you guys?”

“No!” Tracker snaps. “No, nothing’s wrong, we talked, everything’s _fine_.”

“Okay,” Ragh says, slowly. “It’s okay if it’s not, though.”

Tracker sighs, and slumps down on a ledge. “I’m sorry, sorry, it’s not you – it’s not even her, anymore. We talked it out after the Nightmare Forest, about our relationship and her leaning so hard on me I felt like I couldn’t breathe, and she said was sorry and she said she’d be better – and she is! She is! But I’m still just. So _angry_. And it just builds and builds until I’m in wolf form and then I just want to hurt things but I don’t want to hurt her, I don’t, but I _did_ -“ She buries her face in her knees and lets out a frustrated “Agh!”

Ragh hesitates again. He’s has never really had to do the _advice_ thing before. His only friend before the Bad Kids and Tracker was Dayne, and _he_ wasn’t exactly big on talking about feelings. Even with the Bad Kids he’s more had mutual crises than him having to be the one to comfort the others. But, hey, he’s been in therapy for a while now, he’s totally prepared to deal with this.

He wedges himself in on the ledge next to Tracker as he says, “It’s okay to be angry, but I think maybe you should just _talk_ to her about it. I’m sure she’ll understand.”

“I can’t talk to her, what if she le-“ Tracker cuts herself off, hugs her knees tighter. “She wouldn’t understand.”

Ragh bumps her gently with his own knees. “I think she would. But she’s never gonna change if you don’t give her a chance.”

“Hmph.” Tracker says, voice muffled. “Maybe. But – it’s not just her. It’s Galicaea. It’s _me_. I’m just so angry all the time now and I don’t know what to _do_ with it.”

“Oh!” Ragh perks up. “I think I can help with that!”

Tracker looks up, her face damp. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, dude, that’s barbarian stuff!” Ragh says. “Look, sometimes you gotta just feel your feelings, but sometimes you gotta channel them into something productive. I can show you some rage stuff, if you want.”

Tracker raises her head, thinking it over. “Huh. You know, that might be useful.”

Ragh beams and throws an arm around her shoulder. “Awesome! We can be barbarian buddies! I mean, I already have Gorgug and Zelda and Katja, but we’re always open to new members.”

Tracker smiles weakly. “Thanks, Ragh. For all this. I mean, you’re just supposed to be my bodyguard, you shouldn’t have to deal with all… this.” 

Ragh’s heart sinks a little at that, but he tries not to show it. “I’m also your _friend_ , dude,” he says, standing and offering Tracker a hand up. “If I that means guarding your feelings too that’s chill with me.”

Tracker squeezes his arm, and slowly they make their way back to the Golden Gardens.

“Ah, there you are,” Garthy says as they walk in, looking extra bedraggled in contrast to the lush interior of the pleasure house. “You managed alright, then?”

“No thanks to you,” Tracker says, bitingly.

Garthy holds up their hands. “Ragh said he had it handled, and obviously he did,” they say. “Besides, I was keeping an eye out, don’t you worry.”

“Oh. Well, thanks, then.” Tracker mumbles.

“There’s a room ready for you upstairs,” Garthy says, handing Tracker the key, “And the kitchen’s still open if you want some food?”

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Ragh moans. He’s _starving_.

Tracker shakes her head. “I, uh, already ate,” she says, and slips off upstairs, shooting Garthy a look that Ragh can’t quite decipher as she goes.

Garthy watches her leave. “That’s an interesting one,” they say, almost to themselves. “One moon, many faces, as they say.”

Ragh wrinkles his nose. “I’ve never heard that before.”

Garthy shrugs. “It’s an elvish saying, I think. Anyway, let’s get you some food, ey? You did a good job, Ragh.”

They pat Ragh on the shoulder, and move off. He stands still for a moment, pondering. _One moon, many faces. Two eyes, peering through the dark._

There’s something there, he thinks. But he’s tired and his stomach is rumbling and it can wait till tomorrow.

Besides, he’s just the bodyguard, right?


	3. fallinel (part one)

_Sol, father of the sun, heard his children's prayers, and gave to them the gift of fire so that they might drive the wolves away. The people all lit torches to frighten the wolves, and burned the ones who did not learn fear._

_So the wolves ran, away from the people, away from the fire, away from the burning light of day, and into the dark of night…_

Galicaean Folktale

Fallinel is… different than Tracker remembers.

They’ve been working their way up the west coast of Fallinel for the past month or so guided by Lida’s friend Virion, an old butch elf with a shaved head and a septum piercing who Tracker takes an immediate liking too. They’ve offered their house in a little fishing village called Irelin to Tracker and Ragh as a home base, and Tracker’s here now, sorting through their post, and thinking.

Objectively, things are going well. They’ve mostly been talking to fisherfolk and tradespeople, who tend to be way less stuffy than the elves they’d previously encountered, and yeah, okay, a lot of them are still weirdly obsessed with singing grapes and diaphanous gowns, but most places they go people are _listening_. In whatever town square or temple garden Tracker manages to find to give her little speeches, wavering at first but growing more confident the more she speaks, there’s at least one person who will come to see her afterwards to ask her a question or tell her she’s doing a good job. And sure, sometimes the way they talk is outdated and difficult to follow, but they seem to care and that’s what matters.

By the end of their first week they had started to gather little groups together in the villages, then by the second they’d swelled to crowds, and by the time the full moon had rolled around again, people were coming from out of town to hear her speak and cheering her on as she did. There’s maybe a little spectacle in it, she suspects, in this land where nothing ever changes and they sing the same songs over and over again, but for every person she meets who’s there just to be entertained by this weird human werewolf and her half-orc bodyguard, there’s another who really believes in what they’re doing. She’s even met a couple other people with lycanthropy, which was entirely unexpected but really cool.

Tracker should be happy. And she is, for the most part. Her Fantasy Instagram documenting the trip is taking off, no doubt due to the fact that the Sig Fig account follows her, and thanks to some barbarian lessons from Ragh whilst they were still out at sea and some long conversations with Jawbone, her emotions are a lot more under control. But she still hasn’t heard from Galicaea, and every time she tries to commune with her here something feels – off. She can’t tell what. She’s starting to get a little antsy.

And Ragh… she sighs, putting down the pile of letters. Ragh’s not here. Ragh is in Elmville, visiting his mom, and it’s fine. It’s fine! It’s not like there’s that much bodyguarding for him to do at the moment anyway, so she gets it if he’s bored or just homesick as he’s seemed a bit lately, but still, it stings a little. It kind of feels like he doesn’t care about the mission as much as she thought he did. About her, as much as she thought he did.

That’s probably unfair. She sighs again, tells herself that she’ll talk to him about it when he gets back tomorrow, and finishes sorting through the mail.

The front door opens and closes as Virion enters with their niece Mina, each carrying a paper bag of groceries. “Any luck?” they ask, kicking off their shoes before wandering into to the kitchen.

“Not yet,” Tracker says, following them both through to help them unpack. “Just more letters from people asking us to come and speak in their towns. Is Ins Alor on our list yet?”

“Mm, let me check,” Mina says, bouncing over to the noticeboard where they’ve been keeping track of the places they’ve been invited, a big map of Fallinel pinned beside it. “No, not yet! It’s near Onma which you’re supposed to visit next week anyway though, you can probably squeeze it in.”

“Cool, thanks, Mina,” Tracker says, smiling at her. Mina’s a couple years younger than her and Ragh, but she’s from Solace too, spending her summer with her auncle whilst her parents are at work. Mina beams back. “But yeah, nothing from the Court of Stars or Zaleria Caithana. Maybe I should send them another letter?

“I mean, you can try, kid, but I already told you, the Court of Stars takes aeons to do anything.” Virion says, putting away some cheese and butter in the enchanted cold box that they have instead of a fridge. “And I mean that literally, by the way. There’s a pothole down the road that took them like three hundred years to fix.”

Tracker winces sympathetically. “I know, I know. I’m just tired of all this talking, you know? Galicaea – my Galicaea – is all about _doing_ stuff. It feels stupid to keep giving these same damn speeches over and over.”

“I know it might not feel like it, but talking is doing sometimes,” Virion ruffles Tracker’s hair affectionately. “These things take time. Probably not as much time as the Court of Stars think, but, time. And look at what you’ve done in just a month! So many people believe in you and your Galicaea already. You just gotta be patient.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Tracker sighs for the third time in as many minutes. “Thanks, Virion.”

“You’re very welcome. Want to help cook dinner?”

Tracker nods, and spends a pleasant enough evening cooking and practising her Elvish with Virion and Mina, trying not to worry too much about Ragh.

The letter she’s been waiting for arrives the next day just before Ragh does. She scans it quickly, stumbling a little over the archaic Elvish and swirling calligraphy it’s written it, but understands enough to get the gist.

Something is finally _happening_.

She runs out to the van to start making preparations to leave and finds Ragh, shaking off the effects of teleportation magic. “Oh, hey man,” she says, leaning over to give him a hug. “Good weekend?”

“Hell yeah!” Ragh says, squeezing her shoulder. “Me and the Owlbears and Riz has the wildest boy’s night, Corey Durden – do you know Corey? – threw a fucking wild party and we got so wasted…“

Tracker’s elation at the letter and Ragh’s return sours as he rambles happily on about his adventure, though she tries not to show it, nodding along and reacting when it seems appropriate. She’s happy he’s happy, of course, but this just confirms her fears that he doesn’t really want to be here. That he’s going to leave.

Well. If that’s what he wants, Tracker can make her peace with that. She’s used to it, by now.

“How was your weekend?” he asks, interrupting her thought spiral. “Any news from the church-government people?”

“Good, yeah,” Tracker says, refocusing. “And, oh, uh, kind of?”

She hands him the letter, then remembers Ragh doesn’t speak Elvish and translates for him. “It’s from Zaleria Caithana, not the Council of Stars. She’s invited us to Stellemere, says she’s interested in meeting us.”

“Oh, sick!” Ragh says. “When do we leave?”

Tracker hums. The meeting isn’t until the end of this week, but it wouldn’t hurt to get there ahead of time and do some poking around to see what people think of them in the bigger cities, and maybe see if she can find out some more about Priestess Caithana. “We can probably get there by nightfall if we leave now,” she says. “If you’re ready?”

“Yeah, dude!” Ragh says brightly.

“Cool, one sec.” Tracker runs back inside the cottage to grab some food and her bag. Virion and Mina are out, so she leaves them a note to say where they’re going, and last minute decides to leave her crystal so that if something goes wrong she can call and let them know. She’s not totally sure Virion actually knows how a crystal works, but Mina should, and it’s their best option since she doesn’t know _sending_.

In less than five minutes, they’re on the road again, heading towards the _happening._

***

Driving through the back country roads towards Stellemere, Tracker steels herself and says, “Hey, you know, if after this trip to Stellemere you wanted to go back to Elmville, that’d be fine with me.”

She keeps her eyes directly on the road ahead as she says it, but at the edge of her vision she sees Ragh swivel around in his seat in surprise. “What?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t be mad,” she clarifies. “I get it, if this trip isn’t totally what you expected. If you don’t want to stick around, that’s totally fine.”

“You don’t want me to stay?” he asks, but she’s pretty sure he sounds relieved.

“I’ll be fine,” Tracker lies. “If this meeting goes well, things should be easier from here on out. Besides, I haven’t really needed a bodyguard so far, right?”

“Right,” Ragh says, quietly, and looks away.

The rest of the journey passes in silence. Tracker tries to get used to it.

***

Stellemere is what Tracker remembers of Fallinel, equal parts ostentatious and severe. Ragh drives them carefully along the road into the city – Virion was right about the potholes – and Tracker gazes out of the window at the spiralling towers of white brick, interspersed with water features and elemental pylons similar to those they’d destroyed at Calatherial Tower. The whole place hums with magic, so much so that Tracker can feel it even though she’s a divine rather than arcane caster.

It looks beautiful, and she doesn’t trust it one bit.

Dusk is settling in as they arrive, so it takes them a while to find their way since Fallinel isn’t big on street lighting, or like, signs, but eventually they get to where Tracker wanted to start: the Temple of Galicaea. It’s almost the opposite of its sister in Bastion City, situated at the head of an open square the size of a city block. The cathedral itself – because yeah, apparently, this is a cathedral – is an enormous circular building, full of columns and marble and fancy engravings and statues of elves she presumes are former priestesses. It’s the opposite of everything she thinks of when she thinks of Galicaea, all simplicity and nature and wildness gone in the place of elaborate elven construction.

Again, beautiful. Again, she doesn’t trust it in the slightest. She’s beginning to think maybe this was a bad idea.

They park the van a couple of blocks away, close enough to make a quick escape if they need to, but far enough away to avoid suspicion, and climb the marble steps up to the temple.

It’s – quiet. That almost bothers Tracker more than the obscene amount of wealth on display. Galicaea should be _loud_ , howls on a moonlit night and bustling conversation with friends and crackling flames and singing in the dark. There’s none of that here, just a cold silence which makes the sound of their shoes on the tiles echo obtrusively so that the lone priestess by the entrance glares at them as they walk in. No one speaks. It almost feels more like a library than a temple, silence and solitude precedent to any sense of community.

Ragh looks equally uncomfortable as they do their best to tread lightly through the hall, hunching over and moving extra-carefully so that he doesn’t break anything. Not that there’s much to break: the hall is almost entirely empty except for a marble altar with a single candle burning on it, a few lanterns lit around the sides, and statues, again of elven maidens, interspersed between columns. Most of them are dancing or have their hands raised in prayer, but as they walk around the room in a circle Tracker notices that some of them are holding weapons – two on the balcony above the room are drawing back bows and one behind the altar is dressed in light armour and holds a great-sword.

Ragh tugs at her sleeve and points to the ceiling, but the light is low and her dark vision has been playing up recently so she can’t see what he’s talking about.

“What?” she whispers, because it kind of feels like they should be whispering.

“There’s like, art on the ceiling,” Ragh whispers back.

“Oh. Can I borrow –“ she gestures to his glaive, and casts _light_ on it when he hands it to her so that she can have a look. She tilts her head up as she walks around, studying them carefully. The paintings orbit a skylight where the moon shines through in the centre of the ceiling and appear in a sequence as if telling a story, with more elves around the bottom in worship. One figure is clearly Galicaea, another might be Cassandra, but there’s a third she can’t figure out – maybe the Nightmare King? Yes: there he is with the lightning “killing” Cassandra.

“I think it’s the story of what happened to Cassandra,” she says to Ragh quietly. “Their version, anyway.”

“Oh, yeah,” Ragh says, leaning his back to look again. “Weird.”

Tracker reaches for her crystal before remembering she’d left it with Virion. “Do you mind taking some photos? I think Kristen would be interested in this.”

“Sure,” Ragh digs out his crystal, and leans back to start taking photos. Tracker turns to look at the paintings around the main picture, which look like they depict various religious ceremonies and rituals, some she recognises elements of, most she doesn’t. She makes a mental note that it would be interesting to compare the different methods of worship each sect use.

“What, exactly, are you doing?” A voice, cold and clear, breaks through the silent temple.

Tracker starts guiltily, sending Ragh’s glaive clattering to the ground, and feels Ragh jump beside her too. “Nothing – we were just looking.”

A severe looking elven woman, near identical to the statues surrounding her, emerges from the shadows. She’s dressed in long blue robes and is deathly pale, her long blonde hair swept held in place by a circlet with a moon inset in the centre. “You were not doing nothing,” she says. “You were corrupting our temple with your technology. Spyre crystal-tech is strictly forbidden here.”

Ragh shoves his crystal back in his pocket. “Uh, sorry dude – uh, ma’am – we didn’t know.”

The priestess furrows her brow at them. “You’re that little werewolf who’s been causing all the trouble, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” Tracker says, trying to stay cool. “And you are?”

“Zaleria Caithana, high priestess of Galicaea and member of the Court of Stars,” she says, and takes a step towards them. “I believe we weren’t meant to be meeting until the end of this week?”

“Well, we’re early,” Tracker says.

“Hmmph,” Zaleria sneers. “Well, as sacrilegious and downright rude as your presence here is, perhaps it is better to meet here, in the goddess’ presence, rather than at the Palace of Stars. We can skip the formalities, the year-long dance ritual –“

“Uh, the _what_?” Ragh says.

“And talk more intimately.” Zaleria continues, ignoring him. “We – I – am politely requesting you give up this ridiculous mission of yours and return to your home country. It is a disturbance to our sacred traditions and it cannot be allowed to stand.”

Tracker’s heart sinks. She’d thought the letter was a good sign, that maybe they’d be willing to negotiate, but apparently no. “With all due respect,” she says, “Which is, to be honest, very little – the way you worship Galicaea is not the only way to worship her. It’s not the right way to worship her, even. We’re allowed to encourage people to think differently.”

Zaleria smiles without it reaching her eyes, and Tracker thinks again, _beautiful, not trustworthy._ “Our way _is_ the right way, little wolf. Galicaea herself agrees: she has revealed herself to me and said so. I doubt you’ve had as much luck.”

“I – it doesn’t matter.” Tracker clenches her fists. “Gods are shaped by belief, and I believe she can be different. A lot of people do. You don’t get to control that.”

Zaleria’s eyes flicker up briefly, then back to Tracker. “Oh, but I do. I also control a reasonably large portion of this country’s government. It would be such a shame if this sudden surge in religious extremism caused tensions with Solace to worsen again, don’t you think? Would you really want war on your hands?”

Tracker’s vibrating with anger now, so much so that she almost doesn’t notice the heckles on the back of her neck start to rise. It’s all the more infuriating because the elf is so damn calm. “I don’t want to start a war,” she spits. “But I’m _not_ backing down.”

“Tracker,” Ragh says under his breath, so that Zaleria can’t hear, and touches her arm. She looks at him, confused, and then her eyes widen as he nods to the balcony above them, where a bunch of elves with quivers and bows have slipped out of the shadows.

“Well,” Zaleria says, “I was hoping you would see reason, but apparently that’s beyond your limited intellectual capacities. Ordinarily we’d throw you in a prison tower, but some of your little friends rather unhelpfully destroyed the nearest one.” She pauses, begins to move her hands in a gesture that Tracker recognises as somatic. “Do you know why there are no wolves left in Fallinel, little girl?”

“No,” Tracker says, lifting her hands to do the same.

Zaleria smiles. “We killed them all.” 

She snaps her fingers and several things happen at once: first, Ragh leaps in front of Tracker to where the elves are aiming at them, eyes alight with rage and fear: second, the elves send a hail of arrows whistling through the air towards them: third, Tracker and Zaleria cast guiding bolt at each other at the exact same time. Tracker’s magic leaves her hands as little smoky wolves, grey and silver, charging through the air, and she looks up to see Zaleria’s slip away, pure white, like liquid moonlight.

There’s a moment as the two forces collide where nothing happens and Tracker thinks her magic must have won out, but then there’s an enormous explosion that blows all three of them backwards, sending Ragh and Tracker crashing into the statue behind the altar and Valeria into a column on the other side of the room. Tracker, struggling to breathe, gets to experience the uniquely terrible sensation of having her goddess’ magic turned against her.

_Cold- then hot- then cold again- thunder ringing in her ears, behind her eyes- can’t breath- can’t breathe- Galicaea-_

_Why does she burn like silver, of all things?_

“Tracker!” Ragh yells, shaking her out of her stunned condition. “We’ve gotta fucking go, dude, come on!”

Tracker heaves air into her lungs and in an instant retreats into her wolf form, howls in pain and anger and frustration. They go barrelling towards the exit, arrows flying thick through the air, some – but not as many as she would have expected – finding purchase in her flesh. By the way her skin goes cold and then numb she registers that they’re silver tipped but in her wolf form all her thoughts are distilled to urges and right now everything screams _run_.

Ragh’s beside her, something shiny glinting at his side and eyes glinting red as he goes into a rage, and she follows suit, anger pulsating through her like fuel as they burst through the temple doors. There’s a couple of people in armour waiting to meet them at the temple steps but they’re no match for Tracker and Ragh when they’re this pissed off. Tracker pounces on one and Ragh quickly dispatches the others with his weapon – a sword? Where did _that_ come from? – and they continue down the steps and out into the streets of Stellemere. Tracker’s running half on memory and half on scent, and pulls ahead to lead the way back to the van so they can escape. There are still arrows thudding behind them, but they’re getting to be fewer and Zaleria is nowhere in sight.

She turns back into a human as she reaches the van, to the shock of an elven family across the street, and throws the back doors open so Ragh can hop in when he catches up before jumping in the driver’s seat. She hears Ragh land with a thump in the back seat and peels off down the road before he can close the doors.

The archers and sounds of arrows fade into the distance, unable to keep up with the van’s tech, and she breathes a sigh of relief.

“You good, Ragh?” she calls out to him, readjusting in her seat so she can dig an arrow out of her thigh with a wince.

There’s no reply. “Ragh?” she says again, twisting her neck to look round.

He’s. He’s out, not breathing as far as she can tell, so many arrows sticking out of him it would be almost funny if he wasn’t fucking _dying_. “Shit, _Ragh!_ ” she swears, reaching her hand out behind her to throw a healing spell his way as she drives onwards. “Sorry, bud, hold on…”

Tracker mutters the verbal component for as high a level _cure wounds_ as she has left and – nothing happens. Her heart bangs so loudly in her chest that she almost blacks out for a second. She tries again, says the words loud and clear in case Galicaea just couldn’t hear them but there’s still _nothing nothing nothing_ , a terrible, echoing emptiness where her magic used to be.

And a terrible, echoing silence from the back of the van where Ragh lies.


	4. fallinel (part two)

_The wolves were lonely in the dark, and they began to cry. Suddenly, out of the nothingness, rose a light: a light that did not burn like fire, but was cool and lovely, and their cries became howls of joy._

_It was the moon, and the moon's mother Galicaea heard them, and was also filled with joy._

Galicaean Folktale

***

Ragh opens his eyes, and immediately wants to shut them again and go back to sleep. Everything hurts, and he’s exhausted in the way he is when he’s come out of rage even though he’s just been asleep – unconscious? Is there a difference? – and he doesn’t know where he is. He groans, trying vainly to get to his feet, but his body protests and he can only summon enough energy to sit up on his elbows a little.

Tracker’s sitting in front of him dangling her legs out of the van – oh, he’s in the back of the van – and turns to look at him as he shifts. She looks like she’s been crying, and her shirt is drenched in dried blood.

“Hey,” he croaks. “Are you okay?”

“What?”

He tries to gesture to her shirt, but his arms don’t seem to want to work. “Dude, you’re covered in blood.”

“Most of it’s yours,” she says, wiping her eyes and shuffling over to sit beside him. “How are you feeling?”

Ragh considers. Honestly, this isn’t the worst he’s felt waking up from a near-death experience, thanks to the Bad Kids that one time, but still. “Ow,” he says, by way of answer. “What happened? Where are we?”

“I don’t know,” Tracker says. Her hands are shaking, Ragh notices. “Somewhere in the woods north of Stellemere. I just started driving until I couldn’t see them anymore.”

“Are you okay?” he says again.

“Am _I_ okay?” Tracker chokes on a bitter laugh. “Ragh, you almost died.”

Ragh shrugs, or tries to and then regrets it. “Ow, _shit_ – I mean, it happens a lot. It’s my job, right? Bodyguard.” He looks down. “I mean. If you still want me, that is.”

Tracker stares at him. “What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know, dude.” He knows this is probably a dumb time for this conversation but also he’s tired and woozy from pain and he can’t really stop the words spilling out. “I’ve been pretty useless so far on this trip and you’re always busy now and I don’t really get all this Galicaea stuff and you said you wanted me to leave -”

“I don’t want you to leave!” Tracker says. “I never – I thought – you just seemed unhappy and I didn’t want to hold you back – “

“I didn’t want to hold _you_ back.” Ragh says.

Tracker stares at him for a moment and then covers her face with her hands. “Oh, Ragh, I’m really fucking stupid,” she groans.

“No, you’re not!” Ragh protests, cause Tracker’s like the smartest person he’s ever met except for like, Ayda and Adaine, and really wizards shouldn’t count.

“Yeah, I am.” She rubs her eyes and then looks at him again. “I’m really, really sorry. You’re _not_ useless. You’re a great bodyguard and a great friend and I don’t want you to leave, and I felt that way even before you took like a billion arrows for me. I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear.”

“Oh,” Ragh says, his chest filling with warmth, in a good mom’s-homemade-chilli kinda way rather than a bad overwhelmed-with-rage way. “Thanks, dude. I’m sorry, too, for the record. This would have probably been way easier if I had just told you how I was feeling.”

“I mean, same.” Tracker says.

“Don’t beat yourself up too much,” Ragh says. “I mean, neither of us have had a best friend before – I mean, not a fucking good one, anyway – I reckon it probably takes some getting used to.”

Tracker’s looking at him with an expression he can’t read. “What?” he asks, wondering if he’s said the wrong thing.

“You think we’re best friends?”

“Oh. Yeah, dude,” Ragh says. “I mean, if you want to be, no pressure – oof!”

Tracker’s hugging him really, really tight, kind of crying into his shoulder. It’s very sweet and normally he would be super on board but he’s like, _so_ hurt right now. “Ow, ow, Tracker!”

She jumps back. “Shit, sorry,” she says, and scrubs at her eyes. “I just – yeah. Okay, best friends.” She gives him a slightly watery smile, and squeezes his hand.

Ragh grins dopily back. “Best friends!” He tries to sit up again and winces. “Oh, fuck, okay. Any chance of a heal, best friend?”

He’s really said the wrong thing this time: Tracker’s face crumples and she drops his hand. “I…” she lets out a long breath. “I’m sorry. I can’t. It’s – nothing’s working.”

“You can’t, what? Heal?” Ragh asks, brows furrowed.

  
“Or cast spells, like, at all.” Tracker says. “I don’t know what happened – maybe whatever happened with Zaleria fucked me up? – but every time I try to cast a spell I just feel… empty.”

“Shit, Tracker,” Ragh says. He tries to reach out to comfort her but is swiftly reminded of the many, many arrow wounds in his body and swears again.

“Hey, be careful,” Tracker says, concerned, coming over to adjust one of the bandages on his arm, and it dawns on him for the first that he’s covered in them. “I dropped out of school before I got to practical healing classes, I don’t think I did a very good job on the stitches.”

“Oh,” Ragh says. “So I really could have –“

Tracker nods.

“Shit,” he says again, and goes quiet. Dying’s kind of part of the gig when you’re an adventurer, but with a cleric by your side he’s always thought of it more as a trip than a permanent destination. He’d been maybe the closest he’s ever been, then, if Tracker hadn’t been able to revive him.

Well. He’ll process that later. “So, uh, what do we do now?”

Tracker shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know. I don’t have any magic and I just got a message from Virion that they’ve sent guards to the villages to crack down on all our followers, and you don’t even have your glaive anymore –“

“I don’t?” Ragh has a vague memory of losing it in the chaos of the battle and picking up a sword? He doesn’t see either now though, so maybe he imagined that. “Aw, man.”

“Sorry,” Tracker sighs. “I don’t know. Maybe we should just go.”

“Go?” Ragh says. “Like, home?”

“It might be for the best.” Tracker says. “We tried, but… I can’t even _hear_ Galicaea anymore. The mission failed.”

“No, it didn’t!” Ragh says, and, ignoring his body’s and Trackers protests, he heaves himself into a proper sitting position. “We’re still here, right? We’re the mission. So we keep going.”

“Ragh – you can barely sit up and I don’t have magic, no healing, no moon haven, nothing –“

“So what?” Ragh says. “Seriously. We were making a difference. You were making a difference. They wouldn’t have tried to kill us if we weren’t. And we still have faith, don’t we?”

Tracker doesn’t say anything for a moment, looking out of the back of the van and into the distance. It’s a rainy night, moon hidden away behind the clouds, no starlight to speak of. She sighs, and glances back at him. “We?” she says.

“Well, yeah,” Ragh says. He thought it was obvious. “I mean, you believe in Galicaea, and I believe in you. So.”

Tracker sniffs. “You do?”

“Yeah, dude. Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” Ragh says. “I mean, even without all your magic or whatever, you’re still a badass mega werewolf. You could totally rip that elf lady apart in like six seconds.”

Tracker tilts her head and hums, as if considering it. “True.”

“And you know, I believe in Galicaea too,” Ragh says, half-surprising himself. “Like, all that stuff about tapping into your primal side? That’s like, barbarian shit. And transformation, too. I like that. I’ve changed so much since last year, and, I dunno. A god that encourages that seems pretty rad to me.”

Tracker smiles for the first time since he woke up. “Hey, you were listening when I gave those speeches.”

“Well, not every single one, but –“

“Ragh –“

“Sorry, but you kind of said the same stuff a lot of the time –“

“Ragh,” Tracker says again, her eyes wide.  
  


“What?”

“Your _hands_.”

Ragh looks down. His hands are kind of glowing, little balls of grey smoke laced with threads of silver curled up in his palms. It kind of reminds him of mist on the Bloodrush field when he’d get up early to train in the winter. “Uh. The fuck? Are you doing this?”

Tracker shakes her head. “Nah, dude, this is all you.”

“Shit. Cool.” Ragh stares at his hands, and acting on instinct, puts one to his chest. A rush of cool, soothing _something_ spills out into his skin and eases the hot pain in his back, not all the way but enough that he loses some of the tension he’d been holding. “Woah.”

Tracker beams. “Guess Galicaea is still listening after all,” she says, and squeezes his arm.

***

They wind up driving to Kei Lumennura once Ragh’s healed up enough to help figure out directions. He’s not thrilled about it, but they talked it over and it makes the most sense, given that they need a safe place to lay low and Fabian’s grandfather is trustworthy. Hopefully Fethethriel isn’t there, but if he is, well, he’ll deal. They’ve got more important things to worry about.

Tracker doesn’t say much on the drive over, her focus clearly somewhere else. Ragh doesn’t mind, content to half-doze as she drives and let his wounds heal a bit more.

“Do you still have those pictures on your crystal?” Tracker asks a few hours into the drive.

“Huh?” he mumbles sleepily.

“The photos of the ceiling in the temple,” Tracker says.

Ragh digs out his crystal from his pocket. The screen got a kinda cracked whilst they were running away from all the arrows but otherwise everything seems fine. He squints at the photos, can’t quite make out what they’re depicting. “Yeah, it’s kind of hard to see though.”

Tracker nods. “Okay, I’ll look later.”

Ragh glances over at her. She’s got that look in her eye, the one she kept having in the days before she asked him to come on this trip with her: steely with just a glint of yellow, as if the wolf lurks within is peering through. Ragh settles back to his nap contentedly, knowing that when he wakes up she’s going to have a plan.

They arrive at Kei Lummenura after dark, the moon still behind a thick layer of cloud. Telemine is as confusing to Ragh as he was last time, and he calls them ‘Roj’ and ‘Tracher’, but he gives them food and lets them crash on those sweet milk sheets so really it’s a win. Ragh sleeps for twelve hours straight and wakes up fully healed and feeling better than he has in months.

He wanders downstairs to find some grapes or something for breakfast, trying to work out whether Fethethriel is around, and walks in on Tracker in a room full of old scrolls deep in thought.

“Hey,” he says, and then repeats himself when she doesn’t look up, focused intently on a scroll in front of her. “ _Tracker_.”

She looks up this time, but only briefly before returning to the papers. “Oh, hi.”

“Did you sleep at all?” Ragh asks.

“Hmm? Yeah, for a bit,” Tracker says.

He’s not sure that he believes her but doesn’t push it, just comes to sit down beside her, trying not to disturb the careful layout of papers. “What are you looking at?”

“Elven meditation rituals.”

“Seriously?”

“I had a breakthrough, last night.” She pauses. “Several. Maybe it was this morning? Anyway. Give me your crystal.”

Ragh narrows his eyes, trying to remember what Gorgug told him about dealing with Riz when he’s spiralling about a case. He’s pretty sure that they normally just take away his coffee but Tracker doesn’t seem to be drinking any, and besides, he’s curious, so he chucks her his crystal.

Tracker swipes through, looking at the photos. “Aha!”

“Aha?”

Tracker puts down the crystal and scrabbles for a scroll.

Ragh waves his hand in front of her face. “Are you gonna tell me what’s going on, or - ?”

Tracker blinks, refocusing. “Oh, yeah! Sorry. So,” she says, flicking through the stack of papers in front of her, “I was thinking about how Kristen lost her powers in the Nightmare Forest, and how maybe losing my powers isn’t such a bad thing, because she got them back – or got new ones, anyway. And _then_ I was thinking about Kristen had to commune with Cassandra in order to finally understand them, and I realised I was going about this all wrong. I can’t convince Galicaea’s followers to believe in the primal path if I can’t be sure that the version of Galicaea that follows the primal path will listen to us, you know?”

Ragh only kind of does, but he nods anyway. “Okay. So how are you going to commune with Galicaea?”

Tracker points at him. “That was my next thought! And I remembered from when we were last here that they have a bunch of these meditation and ritual books so I came down here to see if I could find one that could work.”

“And did you?”

“I wasn’t sure until just now, but – look here –“ Tracker shows Ragh the blurry photo of the temple ceiling with an elf drinking from a chalice, and then points her finger at the scroll in front of her which shows a similar image surrounded by smoke. “I think this is it.”

“Cool! What do we need?”

Tracker looks up at him. “We?”

“You didn’t forget already, did you? Best friends!” Ragh reminds her. “It’s our mission. No way I’m letting you have all the fun alone.”

Tracker looks like she’s trying to hide a smile. “It’s dangerous. You have to come close to the brink of death.”

Ragh shrugs. “What else is new?”

“Okay,” she says, and lets the smile fill her face. “Okay. Most of the stuff we need is like, essential oils and herbs and stuff that Telemaine probably has. We’re also gonna want star berries – I think we have some of the dried ones Lida gave us when we were in Bastion City still, so that should be fine – and uh, silver –“

“Silver?” Ragh interrupts, suddenly worried. “Won’t that, like, kill you?”

It’s Tracker’s turn to shrug. “What else is new?” she repeats. “I figure this ritual is designed to scare werewolves away, but if that’s all they’ve got they’re gonna have to try harder, since the ritual might kill you anyway.”

Fuck, his best friend is cool. “Okay, if you say so,” he says. “Maybe we should have some healing potions on stand-by, though?”

Tracker nods. “Good idea,” she says, adding it to the little list she’s been making. “Okay, the last thing that’s on here is to do with the status of the moon, but it’s written in weird old Elvish so I’m not super sure what it means?”

“What does it say?”

Tracker holds up the scroll and reads it slowly as she translates. “When the moon has been born anew – so new moon, which is good, because that’s tonight – let her shine many times: for though there is but one moon, she has many faces to show.” She rolls up the scroll. “It could be just poetical bullshit, but –“

“Wait,” Ragh says, furrowing his forehead to try and put the pieces together. “Garthy said that, when we were on Leviathan. One moon, many faces. They said it was an elvish expression.”

“Huh.” Tracker says. “Did they say what it meant?”

“The way the said it was like, people are complicated,” Ragh says. “But –“ He closes his eyes to focus, remembering the sight of the full moon reflected on the smooth surface of the Celestine Sea. “You know you said that werewolf rages are worse over the sea, and no one really knows why?”

“Yeah?” Tracker sounds confused. “Why?”

“What if it’s because the sea reflects the moon?” He opens his eyes. “Like, there’s twice as many full moons, so you’re doubly powerful?”

Tracker blinks, processing what he’s said. “One moon, many faces,” she breathes. “Ragh, you’re a _genius_.”

“I am?” he asks, pleased.

“Fuck yeah!” She leans over to give him a high five, which he returns enthusiastically. “So if the ritual says we need to show many faces, we need the ocean? Or just still water?”

“I bet it’s just anything that reflects,” Ragh says. “There’s a lake here, right? We can do it there, and maybe bring down more bowls of water and mirrors, anything shiny. Show as many of Galicaea’s faces as possible.”

“That,” Tracker says with a grin, “Sounds like a plan.”

***

Ragh wanders down to the van after breakfast to find the berries they need for the ritual. The back of the van is a mess, all their belongings thrown haphazardly around after their recent escape and also just the general detritus of two teens on a several-weeks-long road trip. He tries to ignore the large bloodstain and discarded bandages by the back doors and goes to rummage around the pile of junk that functions as their wardrobe/pantry/bedroom.

He spends several minutes sorting through the pile but there’s no sign of the berries. He steps back to look under the benches, wondering if maybe they slid underneath, but instead finds a sword.

 _Guess I didn’t dream this after all_ , Ragh thinks, picking it up to examine it. It’s a great-sword with a wicked-sharp blade and gemstone in the shape of a crescent moon pressed in the hilt. He gives it a practise swing and nearly takes off the back of the driver’s seat headrest – whoops – and okay, it’s not the same as his glaive and he’s not as experienced with swords, but _fuck_ does it feels like it’s a perfect fit.

He figures out where the berries are eventually (in the glovebox, for some reason), but before returning to Tracker he goes to look for Telemaine, and finds him reciting poetry at the edge of the woods

Ragh politely waits until he’s done talking about motes of light and then says, “Hey, uh, you know about swords, right? Did you make this?”

Telemaine drifts over and lifts the sword gently from Ragh’s hands to examine it. “Ah, yes. This is Ithilmír, the Moon Blade. This was made by my own grandfather in ages long past, and is ordinarily wielded by the most dedicated knight in the service of the moon goddess Galicaea.” He looks up at Ragh. “Where did you find this?”

“Uh,” Ragh says, trying to decide whether he should lie about this. “Kinda stole it from the temple of Galicaea?”

“Ah.” Telemaine nods. “That will probably piss them off quite a bit.”

“Ah, shit,” Ragh says. “Do you think I should give it back?”

Telmaine shrugs. “Perhaps. I don’t super care.”

“Oh. Okay.” Ragh looks down at the sword. “Is the blade silver?”

“Indeed,” Telmaine says. “I believe it has been used to strike down many wolves and werewolves in the ages since it was created.”

Ragh frowns. Maybe he doesn’t want this sword after all.

But then again, he knows a thing or two about being used by bad people for bad things, and he knows about making up for your mistakes, protecting instead of hurting. Maybe this sword can change, just like him.

Besides, they still need silver for the ritual.

“Hey, Telemaine,” he says, “Can you do me one more favour?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this part of the fic is the most obviously inspired by this post (https://kristenbeeapples.tumblr.com/post/617238985622929408/hmm-thinking-about-ragh-taking-a-level-in-cleric) I made a couple of months ago. I am very much indebted to the person in the tags who suggested Ragh taking a level in paladin to Galicaea, you are a genius and a visionary and I'm very sorry I don't remember who you are!


	5. arborea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, this is included vaguely in the work tags, but to be specific this chapter includes the depiction of two characters taking a harmful substance in order to come close to death. if that will upset/trigger you in anyway, skip the section that begins 'darkness gathers at the edge of the lake'. also minor tw for vomiting at the end of the chapter. please take care of yourselves! <3

_Galicaea came down from the sky and said to the wolves: I thank you, for no one has ever sung to me before. I would grant you a gift in return for your sweet music._

_One of the wolves said: we are lonely. The people drove us away, though we only wanted to eat, and to play, and to sing. We would like to go home._

_And Galicaea said: if that is your wish, I will give you bodies like theirs so that you may walk among them. But let yourselves still be wolves, and let the wolves still be wild, and let the wolves still sing when the moon is bright; for though they will still fear you, I will love you in shine and in shadow._

Galicaean Folktale

***

Tracker borrows Ragh’s crystal a couple hours before the ritual and ducks into a quiet room away from where one of Fabian’s aunts in waxing poetic about different kinds of essential oils. She spends a few minutes pacing up and down trying to work up the courage to make the call, weirdly anxious, before hitting dial.

The crystal rings for a few seconds, before Kristen’s voice at the other end says “Hey, Ragh, buddy, what’s up?”

“It’s me,” Tracker says, sitting down on the floor, heart thumping in her chest. She knows it’s stupid: it’s not like she hasn’t talked to Kristen about hard stuff before. They talked after Kristen lied during Spring Break and they talked after the Nightmare Forest and they talked after they’d argued in Leviathan, and every time things ended up better than they had been before. Still, the fear lingers. Still, she wonders if this time she’ll be too much. “Hi.”

“Oh, hey babe!” Kristen’s somewhere loud: it could be a party or it could just be the general chaos of Mordred Manor, it’s hard to tell, but she says something to the people she’s with and then a door clicks behind her. “I haven’t heard from you in a couple of days, how are you?”

Tracker quickly fills her in. When she’s done, Kristen says, “You’re doing it, aren’t you? The ceremony.”

“Yes.”

“Even though it might kill you.”

Tracker takes a deep breath. “I love you so much, okay, I just – I need to do this.”

Kristen’s quiet for a moment. Tracker listens to her breathe through the crystal, bracing herself for the spiral, but when Kristen finally speaks all she says is, “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

**“** What?”

“Say that you love me when you’re telling me bad news.”

Tracker blinks. “You don’t want me to say that I love you?”

“No, I –“ Kristen sighs. “I kinda want you to tell me that you love me because you love me,” she says, and because it’s Kristen she says it like it’s a question. “Not because you’re afraid I’m going to leave?”

“Oh.” Tracker swallows. She forgets, sometimes, how perceptive her girlfriend can be, when she’s trying. Forgets that she _is_ trying. “Sorry. I didn’t realise I did that.”

“I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you had to.” Kristen says. “I know you love me, okay? I’m not going anywhere, even when things are scary or hard.”

“Okay.” Tracker says thickly. “You’re not mad at me for doing this?”

“I’m scared for you,” Kristen admits. “Dying sucks. Probably, like, doubly so if you stay dead, but either way it leaves a mark. It _hurts_. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.” She pauses. “Actually, thinking about it, I have definitely and literally wished it on _multiple_ enemies, but –“

“Kristen,” Tracker interrupts gently.  
  


“Right, sorry.” Kristen says. “What I mean is that it’s risky, and it’s gonna hurt, even if things turn out okay. I never got a choice in what happened to me. You do. Are you sure you want to do this?”

Tracker thinks about the scar on Kristen’s chest, the matching ones across her stomach, new skin growing over old wounds. She thinks of them both alone in the dark of the Nightmare Forest, her possessed and terrified and full of anger in a place she used to belong, Kristen with arms outstretched, trusting, unafraid.

She wants that. To not be afraid anymore. To trust the dark again.

“I’m sure,” she says, and if it was not true before it is now.

“Okay,” Kristen says. “Okay. I trust you. But please be careful? Fuck, wait, that’s a dumb thing to say-”

“It’s not dumb,” Tracker reassures. “I’ll try.”

“Good,” Kristen hesitates for a moment. “Uh. I’ll pray for you? If you want. Cassandra might be able to help if things go really bad.”

Tracker nods, before remembering Kristen can’t see her. “Oh, yeah, that’s a good idea. Thanks, Kris.”

“Of course,” Kristen says. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Tracker says, and they’re both kind of crying now, but whatever, they’re soppy lesbians, it’s allowed. “I mean – not because of – I love you because I love you, okay?”

“Okay,” Kristen sniffs. “Good luck. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

“Bye,” Tracker says. “And thanks, Kristen.”

She hangs up the crystal, and takes a minute to collect herself, wiping her eyes. _Guess people really can change if you give them the chance,_ she thinks, remembering Ragh’s words on Leviathan, and gets up to finish preparations for the ceremony.

***

Darkness gathers at the edge of the lake. They walk down to meet it together.

Everything is already in place: Tracker came down earlier with Telemaine and carefully traced the runes, laid down the right herbs and oils. The silver. They sit cross-legged in a dirt circle by the shore, knees touching, Ragh’s new sword – “The Wolf’s Heart,” he’d said as he showed her the newly-forged steel blade. “I don’t know the elvish for that, but I’m gonna call it Tracker.” – laid across his lap.

They each take a glass to scoop it through the bowl in the centre. Tracker watches the ripples until the liquid settles and the tiniest sliver of moon is reflected on the surface, mirrored in the lake beside them, mirrored again in Ragh’s sword. _One moon, many faces._

“Ready?” Ragh says.

“Ready.”

They drink in unison, and the world falls away with the bitter taste of silver.

***

When Tracker opens her eyes it’s to stare into a void. She blinks rapidly, trying to determine which way is up and which way is down. It takes her a few dizzying moments to realise that she’s standing on the surface of an ocean, so still she would think it was a mirror if it wasn’t for the water soaking through her sneakers and the faint salt tang in the air. Above her is a deep black sky filled with hundreds of thousands of stars, reflected so clearly in the water below that it feels like she is floating in space amongst them.

And towering above, dressed in robes shimmering with stardust, an enormous full moon haloed behind her head, is the goddess herself.

“Woah,” Ragh says softly from behind her.

“Galicaea,” Tracker breathes, and bows her head on instinct. “I – it’s an honour –“

“Quiet,” Galicaea says, her voice commanding and austere, but also, Tracker notices, _strained_. “Tracker O'Shaughnessey. Ragh Barkrock. You should not have come here.”

“We just want to talk,” Tracker says, carefully. She’s having trouble focusing on Galicaea’s face: every time she blinks her features seem to shift, sometimes more wolfish, sometimes elvish, always slightly blurry. It’s a little unsettling, but she is talking to a god right now, so. “We want to help you.”

“I don’t,” Galicaea says, twitching, “Need _help._ ”

“I think you do.” Tracker steels herself, trying to remember all the things she wants to say. “Galicaea, I come here on behalf of the werewolves and the wild. We want to know who you are. We want to know if you stand with us as we stand with you.”

The goddess shivers. “I am Galicaea,” she says, distantly. “I am the goddess of the moon, serene, eternal. Of the elves. Of nature. Of the feminine.”

“Yes,” Tracker says. “But that’s not all that you are. You are also _my_ goddess. Goddess of werewolves, goddess of the chase, goddess of chaos and transformation. I believe in it. I believe in you.”

“I do too,” Ragh says, moving to Tracker’s side. “I believed, and you gave me new power. That’s gotta mean something.”

Galicaea clutches her head. “I don’t – I am not – ah!” She doubles over in pain and screams, a horrible high-pitched sound that knocks the wind right out of both of them. Tracker falls to one knee, wedging her hands over her ears until the ringing stops. By the time she looks back up Galicaea has composed herself, and is looking decidedly more elvish.

“I – perhaps I was those things, once, but – no more. I am this now.” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry. You must leave. This is all too confusing.”

“No!” Tracker says, struggling back to her feet. “We’re not leaving. What the elves have done is _wrong_. They made you hurt your own sibling. They made you hate yourself. You can’t just be who they say you are.”

Galicaea stiffens. “I never meant to hurt my sister. But they believed it so _strongly…_ what else could I have done?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Tracker admits. “But you must know now that it was wrong, now, because _we_ know it was wrong. You must know how much it hurt them. We felt it. It nearly killed us and our friends.”

“I-“ Galicaea’s face crumples again. “But it _must_ have been right. They believed it. If it was wrong… how could I ever begin… ah!” She buries her head in shaking hands, and briefly Tracker sees her fingers flicker and become claws.

Ragh, back on his feet, steps towards Galicaea, hands up in a placatory gesture. “Dude,” he says, very seriously, “I know a thing or two about hurting people because there’s parts of yourself you don’t want to face. I know it hurts. But pushing it down is only gonna hurt more in the long run. You gotta own up to all this stuff or things are never going to get better, for you or anyone.”

Gods, Tracker is so glad Ragh’s her best friend. She looks at Galicaea as the goddess slowly lowers her hands to look at them. For a moment she sees yellow eyes and thinks it might have worked, but then she scowls and thrusts her hands outwards to send a wave of wind at them. Ragh, in the front, takes the brunt of it, and Tracker only narrowly manages to side step him as he’s blasted backwards and skids to a halt behind her with a groan.

“Hurt people hurt people!” he yelps.

Tracker hurries over to his side. “You good?” she asks, offering him a hand up.

“Yeah, think so,” he says, staggering to his feet again. “I – uh oh.”

Tracker turns to see where Ragh is looking. Behind them stand three figures made of water and swirling moonlight, somewhere between elemental and celestial.

“Make them _leave_!” Galicaea cries, and the figures start moving towards them. As two take out bows, Tracker recognises them as the statues from the cathedral in Stellemere.

She starts to position herself in a fighting stance but Ragh moves in front of her and shouts “Go! I’ve got this!”

“Are you sure?” she shouts back.

“I said what I wanted to say,” he calls, already running to meet them, his sword drawn. “Let me do my thing so you can do yours!”

“Okay!” she says, and turns back to Galicaea, having to shout over the sounds of fighting as well as the wind that’s now whipping around them. “Galicaea, Ragh’s right! You have to listen to us!”

“No. No! I am a god,” Galicaea says, angry now, and anger’s good, Tracker can work with that. “We are endless, immortal, we don’t _change_ –“

“Of course you do!” Despite the seriousness of the situation, Tracker can’t help but laugh. “You said yourself that you used to be different. Of course gods can change! Gods are made by people, and people change all the time.”

Galicaea growls. “I am the moon, eternal. I may go through cycles, but it’s always the same pattern. I don’t change. I _won’t_.”

“The moon isn’t eternal!” Ragh yells from behind them, slicing through one of the moonlit angels. “It’s not there for half the day!”

Galicaea waves a hand and shoves Ragh back into the wet ground. Tracker turns to help as the angels surround him, worried, but he’s back up quickly, eyes red as he rages, and she refocuses on the goddess in front of her.

“I am here, always,” Galicaea says, “Even if mortal eyes do not comprehend me.”

“But that’s the _point_ ,” Tracker says. “The moon is always there, but we always see it differently. New or full, waxing or waning, morning or night, clouds or clear skies – we always see you changing! You change with us!”

Galicaea screams again, and the wind forces Tracker down once more. “No! No!”

On her knees, looking in the water, Tracker can see Galicaea’s reflection. The shadow of the moon.

She gets up, calm now. “You don’t have to be this,” she says. “You don’t have to be the elves, you don’t have to be the wolves, you don’t even,” – Tracker’s breath hitches as she finally finds the answer to a puzzle she didn’t know she was trying to solve – “have to be a woman, if you don’t want to be. You can be both. You can be neither. The moon has many faces, take your pick! You just can’t be something that demands you’re only one thing.”

Galicaea cries again, sending the wind outwards, but Tracker stands her ground this time, certain, steady. “You – I – you said I have to be what they believe – there’s so _many_ of them. I have to be what they want. I have to be this.”

“There may be more of them, for now,” Tracker says. “But we’re _here_. And we’re not leaving.”

She stares Galicaea straight in her shifting eyes, as if daring the goddess to weigh their faith against hers. She’ll win.

When Galicaea breaks contact, breathing raggedly, Tracker looks back down at the water. Her own wolf form, her second face, her shadow, looks back up at her, and opposite them is Galicaea’s other self. The wolf within.

The sounds of battle fade out as she looks back up and holds out her hand to her goddess. “I trust you,” she says. “Do you trust me?”

There’s a pause, and then the goddess takes her hand. It feels soft, like fur.

Enough talking. Tracker takes a deep breath, and dives in.

***

Beneath the water, all is quiet. The two wolves stare at each other, the moon rippling between them.

The wolf who calls themself Tracker steps forward, and, entranced by her mirror image, the wolf who calls herself a goddess steps forward too.

The wolf that is Tracker throws back their head into the night sky and _howls_ , shattering the silence that has long lived in the watery shadows.

And slowly, as if she has forgotten how, the goddess-wolf follows suit. Her rusty jaws creak open, and she howls, and howls, and howls, angry, terrified, melancholy, joyful.

The duet fills everything, everywhere, a cry both ancient and promising something new, a cry that, even as the watery moon bursts and the wolves return to their flesh, will carry on, and on, and on.

***

“Tracker! Tracker!”

Tracker’s eyes fly open to see Ragh’s worried face inches above hers. She’s about to reply and tell him she’s fine but her body speaks for her, and she rolls over to vomit up bile and silver onto the ground.

“You okay?” Ragh says, anxiously. “You stopped breathing, and I was trying to heal you and I couldn’t tell if it was working and then –“

“I mean, I feel like I just swallowed silver,” Tracker says, wiping her mouth. “But who cares, did it work? It felt like it did – wait!” She mutters a spell and healing magic flares through her body. “Oh! I have magic again! Ragh, I have magic!”

“Tracker, shh,” Ragh says. “ _Listen.”_

Tracker looks around. The dark is that of the early morning, light threatening in the east, and everything is fresh and damp with dew. Cold mist drifts across the surface of the lake and out into the trees, but she can’t hear anything but the faint rustling of leaves and the steady bubbling of the water.

And then –

Faint, but unmistakable –

Getting louder and louder –

Ten, twenty, a hundred voices joining in a chorus –

Tracker throws back her head and laughs. “We did it!”

“We fucking did it!” Ragh whoops.

She tackles him into a hug and they both go rolling into the shallows of the lake, collapsing into a puddle of breathless, unsteady giggles. _They did it._

There are wolves in Fallinel again, and they’re singing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay I simply need you all to know that the scene with galicaea was like the first one I wrote for this fic, and I set in this kind of celestial ocean without doing any research into the upper planes, but when I *did* start looking into the upper planes last week so I could title this chapter, I discovered that arborea, the plane of chaotic good and therefore the one galicaea would likely inhabit, has a kind of demi-plane called aquallor that is a giant shallow ocean. how wild is that?? 
> 
> okay, carry on with the fic, thanks for making it this far! the next chapter is a lil epilogue :)


	6. epilogue

_Some wolves took new bodies and lived in secret among the people, and some wolves stayed free and lonely. But on nights when the moon is full and bright, every wolf will sing to the first person who heard them and was not afraid: and they will hear their brethren, and will remember that they are not alone._

_And Galicaea, mother of the moon and the wolves, will watch over them always, and smile at their song._

Galicaean Folktale

***

Tracker doesn’t quite believe that it’s time for them to leave again until they’re going. The whole trip home has passed in a blur of movie nights and family dinners and parties and dates with Kristen and talks with Jawbone and therapy appointments and laughter and fun, so that it feels like barely a week has gone by instead of a month.

But they’re all packed, and Ayda’s ready to teleport them back to Fallinel, and the whole extended Mordred Manor family has turned up to see them off again.

Fallinel is still a mess, is the thing. They’d made a good start with their conversation with Galicaea and the wolves returning to Fallinel, and the fairly obvious miracle has caused a swell in people following them, but Zaleria has declared them heretics (and thieves, for some reason) and things are still sticky between the villages and the capital. Though the situation had cooled down a bit by the time Ragh and Tracker decided to take some time off, there’s still a lot of work to do. Turns out dismantling an entire government/church is maybe not a two-person job.

But they’re not alone this time. Tracker has Ragh, and the werewolves, and Virion and Mina (back in Solace, starting cleric classes in high school) and all the people who have decided to follow their version of Galicaea, growing day by day, and Galicaea herself. A wolfpack, as Ragh started jokingly calling them. All the people trying, and changing, and choosing to be different.

Tracker likes their odds better, this time around.

“Bye,” they say to Adaine as Ragh bro-chest-bumps Fabian and Gorgug on the other side of the drive. “Hope you don’t mind if we accidentally dismantle the Court of Stars whilst we’re there?”

“Oh, please do, it’ll be one thing off my to-do list,” Adaine grins, pulling them into a hug.

“You gotta take pictures of their stupid fuckin’ faces when you do!” Fig hollers from the ground where she’s been knocked after trying to join in the chest-bumping match. 

“Will do!” Tracker calls back.

Kristen sneaks up and wraps her arms around their waist from behind. “Hey,” she says and presses a kiss to Tracker’s mouth as they turn around. “I made you a leaving present.”

“Oh, Kristen,” Tracker says, unwrapping the little package she hands them. Inside are two hand-sewn patches for their denim jacket, one which says ‘THEY/THEM’ with an embroidered moon behind and one which says ‘RESPECT MY PRONOUNS OR I’LL EAT YOU’ and has a tiny wolf baring its teeth in the corner.

“Do you like them?” Kristen asks, all nervous and cute.

“I love them,” Tracker says, pulling their girlfriend into a tight hug. “And I love you. Thank you.”

“Love you too,” Kristen mumbles into their shoulder.

They stay like that for a minute and then break apart as Ragh bounds over from where he's kissed Corey, his new _kind-of-boyfriend-it's-not-serious-yet-shut up, Tracker_ , goodbye. “Bye, Kristen!” he says brightly and hugs her. “See you in two weeks for the meeting with Cassandra?”

“Can’t wait!” Kristen says, perking up. “A family reunion! Cassandra’s so excited, they’re trying to work out which miracle will freak out the elves the most.”

Tracker laughs. “Oh, now that I want to see.”

Ayda flutters over. “I have completed the teleportation circle,” she says. “Are you ready to go?”

Tracker nods as Ragh says, “Hell fucking yeah!”

Kristen sneaks in one last kiss and then darts back to stand with the rest of the Manor Crew away from the teleportation circle. Tracker and Ragh wave as Ayda begins to cast the spell, and the last thing they hear before they vanish is a noisy chorus of “Bye!” and “Good luck!” and “Come on Gorgug, let me have another go, I swear I won’t fall over this time –“

The rematerialize just outside Virion’s cottage, the smell of sea salt in the air. The van’s parked outside, right where they left it when they returned to Solace, and oh man, Tracker didn’t realise how much they missed it till now.

Ayda waves goodbye and teleports away as Virion emerges.

“Well, look who it is,” they say, wrapping an arm around each of them. “The heretics! You’re not going to run off again, are you?”

“No promises,” Tracker grins.

Virion harrumphs. “Well, come get your post before you do, it’s clogging up my mailbox.”

Tracker begins to follow Ragh and Virion inside but pauses to look out over the ocean. It’s later here, and the sun is setting, and soon the moon will rise in all her many glories.

Tracker doesn’t need to wait for it anymore, though. They know now the moon is with them always, in shine or shadow, and they smile up at the empty sky.

“Tracker, dude, you coming?” Ragh yells from inside.

“Yeah!” they call back, and follow him.

Tomorrow, they’ll change the world again, and they’ll do it again the next day, and the next. And for better or worse, they’ll do it together.

 _No_ , Tracker thinks, as their best friend smiles and squeezes their hand. _For the better_.

Above, unseen, the moon smiles in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's the end! i hope you enjoyed my ramblings about werewolves and moons and friendship, I had a blast writing it! kudos and comments are much appreciated <3
> 
> again, catherine's art can be found here (https://twitter.com/Magicatherine/status/1343709858319769600) and you can follow them on twitter @Magicatherine or tumblr @magicather1ne although I believe they're more active on twitter! you can find me @kristenbeeapples on tumblr :)


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